


Breeches

by tourdefierce



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cock Worship, Dirty Talk, Explicit Language, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-06
Updated: 2012-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-29 01:42:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/314467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tourdefierce/pseuds/tourdefierce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is driving Merlin to distraction WITH HIS CROTCH.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breeches

**Author's Note:**

> For eloquent_toast, who loves foreskin and pubes.
> 
> Originally posted on LJ: January 9th, 2011.

Merlin has a problem. It certainly didn't start out as a problem but it has _evolved_ into something quite past fascination or fancy and is headed into the territory of obsession and critical distraction. It's starting to effect his life. He can't do laundry without thinking about it. He can't pack for a hunting trip without his hands shaking, his mouth watering and his imagination humming up truly lecherous images. He can't even attend feasts because he's thinking about what comes after or serve breakfast coherently because he's focused on what might have just happened, what is going to happen when Arthur slides out of bed and pads, usually barefoot, to the wardrobe.

The fact of the matter is, Arthur has a favorite pair of breeches. They're incredibly worn, one of the only remaining pieces of clothing that has lasted through his final growth spurt into adulthood. They're soft and cream and falling apart at the seams and, more to the point of Merlin's madness, _they're too small for him._

You can see where this is going right?

The entire castle is running late this morning, the recent snow making everyone drowsy with winter fires and warm cider. Unfortunately, a delegation of self important nobles are due any minute and absolutely nothing is ready. Including King Arthur.

Merlin had slipped out of bed as early as possible, dragging himself from the warmth of Arthur's side, with an adorable little mewing sound that Arthur will deny making, and shrugging into his warmest clothes before setting off to the kitchens. However, everyone is still in bed and Merlin spends half the time doing other people's jobs and when Alice, head of the kitchen, comes bursting in she's shivering with cold anxiety and quiet simply freaking out because everyone is still sleeping. They can practically hear the coming delegation making their way through the lower town.

An hour later, the rest of the castle is up and in a tizzy to get everything ready in order to not make complete fools of themselves in front of neighboring lords and ladies. (For the record, Merlin thinks it's all ridiculous because delegations of this sort aren't that important as to say, war treaties or crop and boarder negotiations, and yet, everyone thinks that because Lady Caroline doesn't have fresh flowers in her rooms _in the middle of winter_ that the world will bloody end. Merlin, point blankly, refuses to perform magic for any of them.)

So when Merlin scrambles back to the chambers he shares with Arthur, he does not have time to be distracted. He does not have time to quiver and shake and do clearly debaucherous things in and around Arthur but he does, oh, yes, he certainly _does want to do these things_.

All because of those fucking breeches.

"Merlin, do you know where my-"

Merlin chokes on his tongue, letting the door slam behind him, because the sight before him is what dreams are made of—what haunts him into maddening distraction. Arthur is wearing nothing but his old, worn breeches that don't fit him at all and because of this, the laces strain against his crotch—his crotch which is sporting a half-hard length and _is literally pressing against the laces as if it is begging to escape_.... into Merlin's mouth.

"Merlin?"

There's a hint of coarse hair poking out.

"Huh?"

It's all Merlin can think about, pressing his face to the barely-there leather laces and inhaling the musky smell of Arthur and worn leather and come and heat and sleep and really fantastic sex. He can't stop staring.

"Merlin!"

Merlin drags his eyes away from Arthur's gloriously partially exposed groin and tries to look competent and ready for the day but knows he's already panting, his own erection straining against his breeches and he's flushing, mouth watering, for how much he really just needs to put his mouth on Arthur. Merlin stumbles forward, intending to help Arthur find whatever he's looking for but instead he takes a minor detour to stand very close to Arthur and stare at his crotch.

"Merlin, what-"

Merlin makes an involuntary whining noise and then gestures to the laces helplessly. He hopes that Arthur gets the point. Merlin has faith, Arthur's a smart guy.

"Merlin!" Arthur says, sounding scandalized, fond and turned on all at the same time. "How can you possibly be thinking about... about my _manhood_ ," he lowers his voice and whispers is like it's a dirty word and Merlin thinks that it sort of is, all the dirty things he wants to do to Arthur's cock are scandalous and just for him, "when the delegation is coming and we're very, very late."

Merlin sort of glazes over everything but the word 'coming' and moans just a little bit, unconsciously reaching out to palm the entire partially laced area and softly groaning at the heat, _the promise_ , of what's behind all that worn leather.

"Please," he hears himself saying. "I'll be quick. I promise, I'll be fast."

"Merlin," Arthur warns, low and carefully but all Merlin can hear is arousal and permission. He drops to his knees with a dull thud and presses his face against the laces without a second thought, inhaling sharply, nosing at the laces and smelling the familiar smell of Arthur's sex.

Merlin moans, mouth hot and panting against the opening of the breeches. Above him, Arthur lets out a shuttering breath, his hands going to Merlin's hair naturally because Merlin knows that Arthur can't ever resist sinking his fingers into Merlin's hair, not when Merlin's begging for it.

And he is, for the record, begging for it.

Stillness fills for the room for long moments as Merlin nuzzles his face in Arthur's groin, rubbing his face over the laces and literally shaking with want. It's only when Arthur sinks his fingers into Merlin's head and mutters, "cock slut" that Merlin moans and scrambles, frantic and needy to tear the laces away, exposing Arthur's leaking cock and making Merlin drool for it. He runs his hands up and down the fabric that is stretched over Arthur's thighs. He loves these thighs. He loves them when they're powerfully propelling Arthur's cock into Merlin's arse, he loves them wrapped around his head and his waist—he's mad for Arthur's tree-trunk thighs.

"Fuck, Merlin," Arthur moans out when Merlin squeezes up the length of Arthur's legs and rubs his cheek against Arthur's prick. Merlin watches as Arthur's knees quiver and then Arthur makes a very gracious and kingly decision by taking three hurried steps backward, dragging Merlin by his hair in keeping his face pressed to Arthur's exposed groin, and settles himself against the wardrobe.

Merlin crawls along with him, moaning against the steady thickness in front of him and the forceful way Arthur flexes his fingers in Merlin's hair.

Arthur settles agains the wardrobe and growls, "get on with it" because right, they are pressed for time. Merlin's mind barely wraps around this concept before his places sloppy kisses to the crown of Arthur's cock, tonguing the slip of foreskin at the tip where beads of come are pooling like droplets of wine.

Merlin sucks them up with a moan for more before he slobbers all over Arthur's cock and sucks him down as far and greedily down as he can.

" _Merlin_ ," Arthur says in a choked way but Merlin can hardly hear him over the roar in his ears, his mouth sighing in ecstasy as he finally sinks down on Arthur's tease of a cock. It hits the back of Merlin's throat, making his eyes water but he doesn't care, he just wants more. He moans when Arthur's fingers twist and Merlin rakes his blunt finger nails down Arthur's thighs in response.

He wants to fucking _choke on it_.

"Oh fuck, Merlin," Arthur babbles above him. "So wet for it."

Merlin moans around the thick length in his mouth, his tongue frantic to lav attention up and down the shaft. He digs his fingers into Arthur thighs and whines for more, desperate to feel the whole of Arthur down his throat and eventually, oh thankfully, Arthur takes it upon himself to pull out until Merlin makes a petulant noise around the tip before thrusting back in—all the way down Merlin's throat—and holding himself there. Merlin can only feel bliss, out of bodied and uncontrollably horny for this and anything else Arthur can give him. His spit is everywhere, dripping down his chin and glistening on Arthur's pubic hair but Merlin can hardly care when Arthur fucks his face with such determination and kingly competence that Merlin's so close to coming in his own breeches like a little boy.

"Oh fuck, fuck fuck," Arthur's voice, hoarse and awe-filled flows over them as he feeds his cock over and over to the back of Merlin's throat. Merlin scrambles against him for more, fingers desperate to cradle his balls or tease his hole as Merlin opens his throat and moaning around it like an over-eager whore but that's exactly what he is.

Merlin wants to feel shame. He really does. He wants to be embarrassed but all he can do is whine, continuously and come, a shock of an orgasm when Arthur fucks into his mouth brutally and _lets Merlin choke on his glorious cock_.

"Did you just--" Arthur says, and Merlin can only nod, opening his leaking eyes and blushing so furiously that Arthur moans, slamming his cock home with Merlin's nose hitting Arthur's body with force as Arthur comes in great pulses, his cock throbbing in Merlin's sensitive mouth. Merlin can only groan as his own cock spasms wildly, when the bitter, earthy taste of come that floods his senses and leaks out of his mouth.

Merlin's cock wants to come again just from the taste alone.

"Holy fuck," Arthur gasps out and Merlin pulls off his softening cock, kitten licking around the tender head before burying his face in the dampness of Arthur's groin.

The embarrassment does creep in now and Merlin feels hot all over, sticky and uncomfortable and he really just wants to hide from the world right now but the bloody delegation is probably fussing in the courtyard and--

"Shh," Arthur says, breaking through his internal panic, petting the skin around Merlin's ears and combing through his hair. "I've got you, Merlin."

Merlin nods, nosing into the deep scent of Arthur's pubic hair and holding himself there until someone knock's at the door.

"King Arthur?"

"Yes?"

There is a pause before the servant speaks, clearly uncomfortable shouting through the door. "The delegation from the north is here."

"Thank you, that will be all."

Merlin hears the servant scurry away and he moves to pull away from Arthur's crotch but Arthur just hums, threads his fingers through Merlin's hair and lets Merlin sigh into him again. He breaths deeply against the coarse hair above Arthur's manhood, he nuzzles the heat that sits on Arthur's skin and just tries to relax. Merlin stays as long as he can justify it before standing up, leaning against Arthur as his knees pop. They both laugh, soft and breathy when Merlin's knees are audibly protesting their rough treatment.

"Um, sorry," Merlin mumbles and Arthur arches a well groomed eyebrow in his direction. "You know, about all the uncontrollable ravishing."

"Oh yes, it was very troublesome," Arthur says with mock seriousness, pulling himself closer and then they're kissing. Merlin's mouth taste like come and there is still saliva everywhere but Arthur kisses him anyway. It's soft and slow and tender and _perfect_.

"Really, Merlin," Arthur mumbles against sucking on Merlin's lips. "The breeches I've had since boyhood?"

Merlin blushes. "Arthur, they're _obscene_ and _distracting_ and they're _ruining my life_."

He says it with such seriousness—with such feeling—that they both collapse against each other in laughter and turn to get on with the rest of their day. Merlin cleans them up with magic, ignoring the way Arthur's eyes flare with interest when Merlin's glow gold.

The delegation is waiting.


End file.
